Ink
by chezchuckles
Summary: Sometime in the future. Has nothing, absolutely NOTHING, to do with secrets. I'm tired of secrets, aren't you?
1. Chapter 1

**Ink**

* * *

><p>She's half-asleep when he starts stroking his fingertips over her hipbone, over and over, his body warm and heavy against hers. Kate stirs and tries to open her eyes, but it's too good, and she's tired, and he can do whatever he wants if he lets her sleep.<p>

"Kate?"

"Hmm, sleep, Castle."

Fingers along her belly button, back around to her hip, tracing, and then she remembers.

"Told you about it," she says, manages to curl her arm around his waist, palm at his lower back.

"Just forgot till now," he murmurs, his mouth at her neck, roving to her collarbone, tongue laving her skin.

Okay, she's up. She's awake.

Kate curls onto her side, his body moving back with hers. He slides his hand up her side, cups her face; he's smiling that soft and easy smile, the confident one.

She turns her head, presses her lips to his wrist.

"When'd you get it?" he whispers.

"You know when," she sighs, glancing down her body to the tattoo on her hip bone.

"After your mom died." His hand strokes back down, thumb brushing the ink. "It's good. Clever."

"Clever?" She arches an eyebrow and hooks her fingers around his wrist, meets him at her hip, both of them touching the tattoo.

Castle huffs and gives her a grin, his eyes dancing in the darkness of her bedroom. He leans in and kisses her, soft and wet, hot, his mouth over hers. She forgets the tattoo for a moment, wraps her arm around his neck, another at his back, pulls him into her.

"_That's_ clever," he murmurs, making her arch against him with just the play of his fingers.

_Oh._ Then he moves down her body; she clutches at him, a knee drawn up, his mouth at her hip.

"Tell me the story," he says against her skin.

She jerks against the touch of his tongue, laughs, pushing her hands into his hair, tilting his head up. "Of course you want the story. More than this?" She touches him, suggestive and _clever,_ and he laughs back, a humming sound in the back of his throat.

"Definitely want this, but the story first?"

Kate tugs on him, pulls him up with her against the pillows, waits until he settles down next to her. But it feels strange, lying down with him to tell this story. She needs to be up, needs to not be vulnerable, needs-

"Need clothes on for this?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

She huffs and closes her eyes. He knows her way too well. "Yes. Maybe so."

"I don't wanna-" he whines, but he's already moving.

She opens her eyes right when he tosses a tshirt onto her face. Laughing, she lifts up on her elbows, watching him struggle into boxers, his dress shirt. She grins and slides the tshirt over her head, gets out of bed. It's just a white tshirt; she grabs her own boxers and pulls them on, takes him by the hand.

He follows her out into the living room, towards the kitchen. She opens the fridge, finds almost nothing. Castle reaches past her and grabs jelly, then the loaf of bread she has to keep in there so it won't mold.

"Peanut butter and jelly?" he asks.

"Sounds good," she returns, shutting the door and heading for the cabinet. She pulls down peanut butter, hands it over; he's already found a knife.

"So?"

"No need to prompt. I'm gonna tell you," she teases, nudging his hip. She watches him for a moment, the wide palms handling the knife, the bread. He looks good in her kitchen, he looks at ease; she likes him like this. Likes him looking comfortable around her again. Happy.

She makes him happy. And yeah, he's usually a happy guy, but this is a happiness that isn't circumstantial, that doesn't rely on-

_Oh_. Oh, it's joy.

He glances up at her, questions in his eyes, and catches sight of her face. He drops the sandwich he's making, reaches for her. She's shaking her head, it's nothing, it's just a sudden and overwhelming rush of that same joy-

"Love you," she murmurs into his neck, feels his arms tight around her.

"Love you," he says back, a kiss at her cheekbone, the warmth of him surrounding her. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," she says quickly. "It's a good story."

She stays there a moment longer, then pushes back.

"Finish making me a sandwich."

He laughs. "You a sandwich? I don't think so. This one's mine."

She smirks at him, heading for the bar stool in front of the kitchen island. "Oh yeah?"

"No. Not really," he sighs dramatically. Castle spreads the last of the peanut butter over the bread, slaps it together. He grabs a paper towel and hands it to her with the sandwich on top, but she doesn't take it.

"Not-uh," she says, refusing it. "Not done yet."

"Ooh, really? You got bananas here?" He swivels his head, looking for fruit in her kitchen.

"Ew, no, Castle. You didn't cut it."

He glances back at her, then down to the sandwich. He sets it down, cuts it into triangles, hands it back over. "What a child," he huffs.

She grins at him. "Of the two of us, hardly."

He flashes her a little look, heat and intimacy, and she bites her lower lip, snags the first triangle and stuffs it in her mouth. She waits until he's made his own sandwich, pats the seat next to her.

When Castle is settled and starting in on their midnight snack, she licks peanut butter off her thumb and turns towards him.

"I wanted a tattoo when I turned 18, but I wasn't clear on what. I had some ideas-"

"A dolphin on the back of your shoulder," he murmurs.

She laughs at that. "Um, close. Shut up."

He twitches his lips at her, gets off the bar stool. "Want water or milk or something?"

Milk sounds heavenly. "I don't have any mi-"

He pulls it out of her fridge with a flourish, his grin so wide that it fills up his whole face, all beautiful smile and crinkled eyes and in her kitchen. Where he wants to be, where she wants him to be.

"Milk it is," he laughs at her, reaching for glasses from the cabinet next to the fridge.

She grins back. "When'd you get me milk?"

"Couple days ago."

"Forward thinking."

"You mean. . .thinking about the future? Or do you mean, pushy-forward?"

She shakes her head and takes the glass of milk. "Both." But she's grinning at him still, letting him know - she likes it. Has liked it for a while now.

He settles back beside her, taking a long gulp of milk. She waits, then presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

"No dolphin, but something equally not cool," she says. "But I never got it. I went to college, came back for Christmas break. Then."

"Then your mom died," he says, easily enough.

Easily enough. She can do it too. "Yes. And after my mom died, I knew exactly what I needed, what it would be."

"Sword of justice," he says quietly, his fingers at her hipbone, shifting under the tshirt to touch her skin. "Sword and scales."

She nods. "I had a friend design it for me. He made it so that the scales hang from the hilt of the sword."

"I bet you were - you wanted the sword more than the scales, didn't you?"

She nods again, glances down to pull the waistband of her boxers down. It's small, the sword only goes from the top of her hipbone to the bottom, an inch or so. The hilt is at the top, the blade points down; the scales balance on either side of the guard.

She rubs her thumb over it, feels the soft ridges of the black ink. "I'm glad he made the scales-"

"He?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Not the important part here, Castle."

"Just trying to get a good picture," he says, faking innocence.

She's about to brush him off when she realizes that Castle really does like to know the details of her story, all of her stories, what makes her . . .her. "A friend from Stanford. Craig. Graphic design major."

She sees his frown, feels his fingers stroke over the tattoo. "And he made this for you? You asked him to?"

"He offered. I said I needed to - I was going to transfer back home. I needed a way to memorialize my mom and what she stood for. I was pre-law at Stanford, so he knew."

"You had a year at Stanford?" he asks, surprise in his voice.

"No," she says. "A semester. I never went back that second semester. Craig tried to keep in touch with me."

"Of course he did. I would have too," Castle says, his thumb stroking up along her side now, comfort rather than anything else. She smiles at him to show she can still smile.

"I said I was going to do it. And he emailed me the design. I was furious at first. I told him it wasn't right. I told him to remake it - I wanted it to be - righteous. As furious as I was. As hurt-"

"The scales," he murmurs.

She nods with a laugh. "He was a junior. Maybe that made him wiser than me. I emailed him once a few years ago. Thanked him for not giving in to me, not taking the scales out. I appreciate it now, what he was trying to say."

Castle lets go of her hip, circles his fingers around her wrist before dropping that too. "Why did you use his design? If you didn't like the reminder."

"I guess I knew, even then, that justice was fair, and blind, no matter that I wanted the sword. That I needed the sword. When I finally got the tattoo, I was already thinking about going to the police academy. And I figured the scales were part of it too, and I needed to remember that."

"I like it," he says. "It means something. It's a good tattoo."

She lifts her eyebrow, but it's sweet, his approval. Not that she needs it, but it feels right. Because Castle has been a part of this longer than even he knows. With his books.

"I'm glad that the scales are part of it," he says. "Because that's you. That's what you are. I don't know which came first - the design influencing you or the design a reflection of you - but I know you're better for it. The reminder of both."

She lifts her lips into a smile, leans forward to meet his mouth. Peanut butter and jelly, sweet and rich. His tongue swipes at her; she opens to him and finds herself falling off the bar stool and into him, entirely off-balanced when he starts touching her.

They break apart, laughing softly, Castle catching her. She presses her nose into his neck, wraps her arms around his shoulders.

"Back to bed."

"But I didn't finish my sandwich," he mutters, his lips skating her shoulder, nudging past the tshirt.

"Sandwich or me?" she says back, pushing her hips into him.

"Oh you, you, you." His mouth latches on to her jaw. "Every time."

She hums and stumbles back, dragging him with her. He's working the tshirt over her head.

"I want-" he mutters, suckles at her neck before finally shucking her shirt. "I want to trace that tattoo with my tongue-"

Oh. Yes.

"-and then all over," he finishes.

"Back to bed, Castle. Right now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ink**

* * *

><p>"What did you do?" she murmurs, shaking her head.<p>

Esposito glances at her funny, but she waves him off and steps into the elevator. Castle sent her a text a few minutes ago that sounded. . .ominous. Goofy, but ominous.

She tries calling him again, but gets no answer.

In the car, she taps her fingers against the wheel as she drives, heading for the address on his text. He said it's a good surprise. He said he wants them to match.

Jeez, it can't be good. She has no idea what he's talking about.

Until she catches sight of the sign.

Oh, shit.

Castle.

She parks on the street, illegally, and jumps out of the car, rushes inside. A placard on the door asks for all cell phones to be turned off; she digs into her pocket and puts hers on silent as she heads for the glass case and the young woman sitting behind it, leafing through a magazine slowly.

"Help you?"

"I'm looking for my friend. I think he's here. He said he was here, and I need to - stop him."

The girl lifts a pierced eyebrow and flips another page on her magazine. "Can't disturb the artist at work."

"No, look. I need to - I'm an NYPD detective. Show me-"

"Cop can't just barge in here and demand shit. Go sit down and wait. He'll be out when it's done."

Kate glares at her, but apparently the girl's faced down a cop before, or maybe her own mother. Most likely her mother.

She paces to the edge of the lobby, around the glass display case, towards the closed doors.

"You can't go back there."

"Let me look in-"

"You can't go back there. You open one of those doors, and the artist's hand will jump and then, shit, we got a line, a zig-zag, ain't supposed to be there. And you think they gonna be happy about that?"

Fair point. She has no idea which door he's behind.

Beckett stalks back to the waiting area, hands on her hips, brow furrowed, but there's no way. No way to get to him.

He's really doing this.

Getting a tattoo.

Kate sighs and slumps down into one of the black, plastic chairs, puts her head in her hands.

Rich, forty-something, metrosexual men do not get tattoos.

_So they match._

Jeez, her partner is a child.

* * *

><p>She hears a door click and lifts her head, sees Castle walking out of a room. A short woman decked out in tattoos follows, laughing with him. He starts down the hallway and sees Kate, his face lifts into a tight smile. She gets to her feet, apprehension making her throat close up.<p>

He winces.

"You better not have gotten a tattoo on your hip," she threatens him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He glares back at her. "I'm in pain, Beckett, and you're lecturing me?"

"No. I'm threatening you. Big difference."

"It's not on my hip. That'd be girly."

She sighs, shakes her head at him, eyes roaming his body as she tries to guess. Where and what.

He ignores her, turns and says good-bye to the woman who did his tattoo, takes the care sheet she hands over to him. "Come on, Beckett, let's go. You can play doctor with me when we get home."

"Home?" she questions. "Where you planning on staying tonight, Castle?"

He takes her by the arm, tugs her towards the front door. "My place. And you're coming with me."

"Oh, I am? What if I don't want to spend the night?"

"You do," he answers, not even hesitating.

Damn. He's right. Of course she does.

She jerks her arm away from him and pushes the door open for herself, holds it for him as they get out onto the sidewalk. He's moving carefully, like he's been sunburned. She remembers that feeling, the skin extra sensitive, like the place is stiff and no longer a part of the body.

When he gets in the car and doesn't sit back all the way against the seat, she knows.

At least it wasn't on his hip. When she saw the tattoo parlor sign and remembered his text about them matching-

"On your back," she says.

"Yeah."

"Of what? Same as me?" Little bit freaky, matchy-matchy, but-

"No. You'll see. In an hour, I'll need your help taking off the bandage and cleaning it."

"Oh, yeah. We'll stop by the pharmacy and grab some Aquaphor and surgical tape. You have plastic wrap at home, I assume."

"Yeah," he says, sounding surprised. "You had to do that too?"

"Yes. The wet heal."

"Yeah, that's what she said. Sarah. Nice girl. Looks like a map."

"A map?" Kate laughs, pulling out into traffic. She did though, the squat woman who trailed out of the room behind him.

"Tattoos all over. Everywhere. Like a map of her whole life. Or should I say globe? She was rather round."

Oh. Wow. That's - poetic. And apt. And slightly offensive at the same time.

She shakes her head. "I can't believe you got a tattoo."

* * *

><p>Beckett carries the bag of stuff inside his apartment, slides her jacket off her shoulders and throws it over the back of the couch while she watches him. He keeps rolling his shoulders as if his skin is irritated.<p>

Well, it is, isn't it?

Stupid man got a tattoo.

"All right. Strip."

He glances back at her from his living room, eyebrow going up, lust flaring in his eyes, just that quick. She said it on purpose, of course she did, and she smiles slyly at him, steps forward.

"Now, Castle."

His fingers move to the button of his jeans and she laughs.

"Just the shirt. Come on. I want to see it."

"Can't hurt to try," he shoots back, wriggling his eyebrows, moving his hands up to the buttons of his dress shirt.

With a roll of her eyes, Kate comes to help him, dropping their supplies on the coffee table, starting at the top and meeting him in the middle. When she's gotten the last button, he wraps his fingers around her wrists, traps her there, leans in to kiss her, lips so soft.

She breathes out against his mouth on a sigh, realizes she's closed her eyes. His mouth tastes good, like him; she rests against him as she takes her time, slowly exploring his kiss.

He nudges her with his nose, breaking them apart long enough for him to slide his lips down her jaw, skirting her ear. She feels heavy now, drugged with him.

"Why'd you do it?" she murmurs.

"Your story inspired me. I never had anything that I wanted to memorialize like that. Not anything - not something that was so . . . Before and After. So clearly. Until now."

_Until now. _"What about Alexis?" she says, opening her eyes to look at him.

"That was mostly a lot of fear," he grins, shrugging at her, releasing her hands. "It took me months to stop thinking I was doing it wrong, to start feeling like maybe I could actually do it right. I didn't have a father, so there was no one to ask, you know?"

"Oh," she sighs, leaning in to kiss the exposed skin at his throat. "You're a good father. Plus you always know when to ask for help. No worries there, Castle."

He chuckles and his fingers trace the line of her jaw, slide into her hair so he can claim her mouth for another kiss, a little more pressure, firmer than the last, claiming things from her. She strokes her tongue across his bottom lip, delves inside, feels him press against her a little harder.

She breaks from him, slides her hands across his shoulders, down his arms, bringing his shirt with her. She gets caught at the wrists, realizes she forgot to unbutton his cuffs.

Castle laughs softly, moves to do it himself. She itches to turn him around and look, but she waits. Lets him do the dramatic reveal.

He drops his shirt onto the coffee table, turns around to offer his back to her.

The bandage covers about six inches of his spine, from his neck to about even with his shoulder blades, a wide swath straight down the middle. She reaches out and peels the tape off the bottom, then lifts on her toes to get at the tape at his neck, pulling the bandage away.

His skin is pink with irritation, the ink is grey, and at first she thinks he's gotten a feather along his spine. But then she realizes it's a sword. Actually, the left half is a feather and right half is a sword, so that they look one and the same, the grey startling against his skin.

"Kate?"

"Wow."

"Yeah?"

She reaches out, finger tracing the edges, just skirting the irritated part of his skin. At the top, the feather's tip is also the point of the blade, at the bottom, the hilt is also the shaft of the feather, narrowed into a sharp-

"Oh," she murmurs, realizing. It's a writer's quill. The pointed shaft of the feather is black with ink at the bottom, while the tip of the sword is red with blood at the top. "This is amazing."

"You get it?"

"I - I think so. Half sword, half - quill pen?"

"The pen is mightier than the sword," he says quietly, still facing away from her. "Also, there's that saying, The truth is sharper than any double-edged sword."

"This is amazing."

He turns then, smiling softly at her, eyes alight, hopeful of her approval, and she gives him a cautious smile back.

"Castle. Why did you do this?"

"Like you, to mark something. Before and After. A pretty big change for me."

"What change?"

"How I am now. Who I'm with. What I get to do - make a difference in the world. All of that."

She blinks as she looks at him, but she gets it. She understands. Both writer and cop, somehow, crime-fighter and crime-teller.

"Who you're with?" she murmurs, lifting a hand to place it over his heart, feeling the heat of him. She won't cry; this isn't crying. It's just - overwhelmed. She's just a little overwhelmed because he thinks they are so definitive to his life, so crystal clear, that he got a tattoo on his back.

"Because I'm with you," he says, unhesitatingly. "You have your sword, I have mine."

Her stomach flutters and she leans in to press her mouth against his, silence him, his words, before he has her in a mess. The way he says things, how he gets to her every time - she's helpless against it.

Castle wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her in closer. She tastes the pride on his tongue, so pleased with himself, breaks away to look at him again.

Before and after. Her tattoo marks the difference in Kate before and after her mother's death, while his marks the difference in before and after. . . meeting Kate.

"Turn around," she says, hearing the rasp of her voice.

He grins at it, but turns, obedient.

She lets her fingers rest lightly on his lower back as she studies it again, the ink fresh, the skin irritated. A long column against his spine, the tip of the sword, the feather, will rest under the collar of his dress shirt, hidden from view. Her body flushes with heat. "All right. I'll spread aquaphor all over it, then get the plastic wrap on top, tape it up."

"And then?"

She leans in to press a kiss just below his ink, touches her tongue to the unmarked spine.

She feels him jump, sees goose bumps race across his flesh, grins against him.

"And then, we'll figure out a way to keep your back out of the fun."

He laughs suddenly, half twists around to clutch at her hip, drag her closer. He kisses her again, hot and hard, before he lets her go, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

"I knew you went for the bad boys."

She smirks against his touch. "Only you, Castle."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ink**

* * *

><p>Kate pushes him back down on the bed, palm to his shoulder; she smiles as he groans and wriggles down into his sheets. "Stop moving. Let me get the stuff."<p>

"It's kinda hot."

"Who?"

He laughs. "Not who. The skin, the tattoo. It's burning?"

"Uh," she bites her bottom lip, looking at it through the plastic wrap. "It's not supposed to."

"Could be in my head. Could be a who instead."

"What who?" She's lost track of this one. Sounds like that old baseball routine - Who's on first. She gets to her knees and smooths her fingers over his ribs, touching just to touch.

"You who."

"Okay, enough," she grumbles, crawling over him in the bed to get out. "We're starting to sound like a Dr. Seuss book."

He grunts as she stands up. "True. Okay, slather it on me."

"Gross," she mutters, peeling the surgical tape off his neck and carefully pulling back the plastic wrap.

"It's gross?"

"Not too bad," she says. "Taking offense at your word choice."

The plastic wrap is greasy with aquaphor, but she wads it up and tosses it towards the trash can in his bathroom, washing her hands while she's there.

"Hey, don't move."

He stops moving, but turns his head to look at her, his body all smooth lines in his bed. Naked of course. He never wants to put on clothes. Such an exhibitionist. Though maybe the police report about stealing a horse should have been fair warning, right?

"Gotta wash it with mild soap first, Castle. Come in here."

"Typical cop. Yelling '_Freeze_' and '_Get your hands up_' at the same time. Which is it? Don't move or come in here?" He grins at her from his pillow, then slides a knee out, gets to his feet.

"Shut up. I just forgot we had to clean it first," she laughs at him, presses her lips together.

He wriggles his eyebrows at her, stalks forward.

"Not-uh. Clothes. Put on some pants at least, naked man."

He shakes his head. "Nope. They'll just get wet."

She sighs, watches him come for her - no, _towards_ her, not for her. Just towards.

He puts his hands on her hips, tugs her closer, but she slips out from his grasp, heads for the shower stall. "Since you're already naked, easiest to just hop in the shower."

"I love sentences that begin with _since you're already naked._"

She laughs, can't help it, wide and loud, clapping a hand over her mouth at the sound. He's grinning something fierce though and looking at her like he wants to eat her up. She could do that.

But. "Let me wash your back, Castle."

"Ooh, yes. That also sounds good."

He pushes past her into the shower stall, then tugs on her wrist, pulling her in after him.

"Hey, wait. I'm still dressed-"

"Not for long," he growls, his hand already skirting up her side, bringing her shirt with it, off in a practiced, long familiar maneuver. Long familiar. They've been doing this awhile - shower, bed, her living room, his kitchen, the guest bedroom that first time nearly six months ago, the stairwell (entirely not her idea), the floor, his study, his chair-

Okay, she could do this again. His hand is already under the waistband of her shorts, tugging down, squeezing as he goes.

"Wait, wait," she murmurs, swaying towards him. "Let me - first your back-"

His arms go around her, twist her into the spray of water; she gasps, laughing as it hits her eyes, crowds him back so that she's not drowning.

"This first," he says, pressing his mouth across hers, slipping his tongue inside.

She lifts her knee, wraps her arm around him, pulls him closer-

"Ow." He grunts and shifts; she realizes.

"Sorry," she murmurs, kissing his jaw, gentle and soft, pressing her cheek against his neck. "Let's do the tattoo first. Get you out of the shower, okay?"

He sighs, but squirms again. "Yeah. Okay. Darn, not as super cool as I was hoping."

"Well, it's just a little sensitive. And in a week, it'll just be itchy. After that, totally cool."

He grins down at her, lifts his hand to stroke through her wet hair, brushing water from her forehead. He leans down and softly kisses her, chaste, happy, his thumb circling her cheekbone. Feels good, feels really good.

Feels right.

"Wash my back, Kate."

She opens her eyes, sees him smiling at her so very tenderly it could bring her to her knees.

"Turn around," she says quietly, barely able to hear her own voice over the pounding of his two-nozzle shower.

He gives her his back, but she angles him out of the spray, remembering how even warm water can sting. She gently touches her fingertips through the grease of the thick aquaphor, watches some of his inked skin detach and skate down his back. The grey ink is strange to her, but it looks good, the whole thing looks good, still healing, a little puffy.

"Is it okay?"

"It's fine." She grabs her travel bottle of shower gel out of habit, squeezes some out onto her hand, then sighs. "Oops, sorry, hand me your soap-?"

"No, no, it's fine. Use yours," he says hurriedly, half turning to look at her. Something in his eyes.

Oh, he likes it? She presses her lips into a repressed smile, knows it beams out anyway. He likes her soap. Adorable man.

"Use yours, Kate," he says again, touching her hip with a hand.

"No, no. I can't. Has to be mild," she corrects, gesturing for his regular Lever soap. "No scent." Too bad, she really does love it when he smells like he's been over at her place. Although, she distinctly remembers buying him some regular soap to use in her shower. But he's been using hers instead, hasn't he?

She takes the bottle of Lever from him, and when he presents his back to her, she lathers his shower gel between her hands. Carefully, she smooths the suds over the six inches of spine that his tattoo covers.

Well, no, not six inches. More like four. It just seemed so very big when she first saw it. It's really not. It's a thin line down his back, part feather, part sword, and it gives him this - mysterious? brooding? - quality. Like he could be part machine, tougher than one might assume.

Maybe she really _does_ like the bad boy. Jeez, she hasn't grown out of it, has she?

"Ogling my ass, or just stunned by my righteous ink?"

She laughs, smooths her fingers over his back, gently washing the area. "Hmm, little of both. Of course."

"Of course," he laughs, head turned to peer at her over his shoulder. "How's it look?"

"The ink's sloughing off a little. It does that." She doesn't rub, doesn't press down on the skin, just washes the grease of the lotion off of him.

"It's supposed to come off?"

"Well, the skin is healing, and so the dead skin from being pierced - that will come off, Castle. But the ink goes deep, don't worry."

He hums something, maybe just an _okay_, and she cups her hands under the spray of water, brings it to his back to let it wash away the soap. The suds travel down the sharp slope of his back, along his spine, so intoxicating.

Focus, Kate.

"Okay. You're done. Get out," she says, smiling at him when he turns around.

Castle slides both arms around her, brings her body against his, mouth finding hers for a long, hot moment. She lingers, breathing against him, brings her fingers into his wet hair to press close to him.

"Hey," he murmurs.

She's on her tiptoes to reach him, and her calves start to cramp, her toes trembling, so she slides back down his chest, flat-footed again.

"Hey," she says back, smiling up at him, pressing her palms to his neck, his shoulders, the heat of him so good. "Let's get out, put the stuff on your back, and then get in bed, take it slow."

"Yeah," he says, pushing a kiss to her forehead and dropping to her eyelashes. "I like slow."

"I know you do."

* * *

><p>He rustles whenever he moves, the plastic wrap crinkling. She grins every time, and he grumbles at her for laughing at him.<p>

He's pouting again, about having to lie on his stomach, but she drags his big body over hers, lets him lie there instead. He nuzzles her neck, laughs something in her ear, drapes himself around her.

She skims her fingertips up and down his sides, feels him shiver, his lips kiss her temple sloppily.

"Sleep, Castle," she murmurs.

"Not sleepy."

"We've got four hours before we should change it again," she says. "And that'll be at two in the morning. So sleep while you can."

"You're not sleeping?" He curls onto his side, still draped over her, hands roaming.

She laces her fingers through his, pulls his hand away from her hip to kiss his knuckles. "I'm not sleepy."

He laughs, but she can tell he still is, no matter what he says.

"How long you been planning this, Castle?"

He untangles his thumb from the trap of her fingers, strokes it over the hollow at her throat. "A couple of weeks. Took a while to find the right design."

"So after we talked about mine, you wanted to get one?"

"Yeah. Felt right."

"Oh yeah?"

"A statement."

"Pretty permanent, you know."

"Eh, I can get it lasered off if you break up with me."

She laughs, feels his body move in time with her gasp for breath. She tweaks his ear, smooths it over with her thumb. "Not gonna break up with you."

"I figured you were pretty permanent too."

"You got that. I'm not going anywhere. Gonna have to drag me out of here."

"Hard to do if I'm still lying on top of you," he murmurs, sounding tired.

"Uh-huh, that's true," she says, brushing her fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead even as his eyes close. "What statement were you making with this?"

"I love you," he sighs.

She bites her lip, strokes the back of her fingers along his temple. "Love you too."

He laughs, lifts his head, eyes opening to look at her. "No. I mean. That's the statement I'm making. Pretty much all the time."

She smiles back, cradles the side of his face and lifts her head to kiss him. "That's sweet, but . . .how exactly does your tattoo of a sword and a quill mean-"

"Well, it's just, us. The two of us. Writing justice. Righting justice? Something. Don't make me think on it too hard, Kate. It'll fall apart the more you look at it."

A laugh bubbles out of her; she kisses him again, smooths her thumb across his eyebrow. "No more questions. Don't worry."

* * *

><p>She wakes him at one in the morning, doesn't really mean to. He's lying on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow, as she tries to peel the aquaphor-sealed plastic wrap off his back. He rouses as she does, grunts and turns his head.<p>

"Hey," she whispers. "Go back to sleep. I got this."

"Gonna wash it?"

"Yeah, I got it, Castle."

He lets out a long sigh, but blinks and licks his lips, eyes opening. "I'll get the bed wet."

"Better not wet the bed," she laughs.

He huffs. "Not - I mean - if you - how're you gonna soap me up in bed?"

She laughs again, knows it sounds close to giggling, but she can't help it. Sleep-drunk Castle is always good for a few laughs, especially because he's so very honest.

Kate lifts off the bed, taking the plastic bandage with her, throwing it away in his bathroom. She washes her hands, soaks a washcloth in water so that it drips, and grabs his soap from the shower. When she gets back, he's watching her from the bed.

"Hey," he says, eyes drooping.

"Hey, babe." Whoops. Not - not what she meant to say.

He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't comment, thank goodness. Maybe he'll think he dreamed it. Kate sits on the side of the bed and rings water out over his back. He flinches at the cold, gives a little laugh, and she soaps up her hands to carefully wash the aquaphor off his tattoo. She leaves the washcloth on his lower back.

A few lines of grey come off with the soap, the details of the feather, but it's still sharp and clear. "Looks good."

"Just like yours," he murmurs.

"Uh-huh. Just like," she grins.

"His and hers," he says, a hum in his voice.

"Sure," she murmurs, shaking her head. He's half-asleep even as she uses the washcloth to dab at his ribs and soak up the soap.

"Like our own brand of wedding rings."

What?

She stills, but his eyes are closed.

Did he say wedding rings?


	4. Chapter 4

**Ink**

* * *

><p>It takes her a good forty minutes to realize he's not hanging around, squirming in his chair at her desk, popping up his scapula like wings in an effort to ease the vicious itch of his skin.<p>

Forty minutes of bliss, absolute and dedicated concentration to the murder board, to the stack of financials she is still wading through, and to this crazy and twisted case.

Floaties. Nowhere near a pool. What in the world was this guy doing?

Forty minutes and she's got a couple of strange coincidences and a feeling in her gut that might actually have nothing to do with this case. Might be a feeling about what he's up to. Castle.

She glances around the mostly empty bullpen, a flush of shame on her cheeks as she realizes she's done it to him again, kept him here later than usual when she knows he wanted to get home and write. He did bring his laptop this morning, but Gates doesn't like him setting up shop here, _hanging out_, so it limits his time.

She should've quit an hour ago. More.

Where is Castle?

For that matter, where are the boys?

Beckett puts the dry erase marker on her desk and heads past the desks towards the break room, hearing the faint sounds of all three males ensconced within. When she rounds the doorway, she finds Castle shirtless near the espresso machine, Ryan and Esposito - uh - well - um, touching him?

"Guys?" As if that might be in question.

Castle glances up at her, grins widely. "I'm showing them my tattoo."

Esposito flicks her a disappointed look. "I can't believe you let him do that."

"Hey, you have a tattoo," Castle growls, giving the man a look.

"Mine are cool," Espo snarks back.

"How are yours cool, but mine isn't?"

"Dude. Mine are military. Brotherhood."

Kate steps forward, eyeing Castle's broad chest, then glancing to the boys behind him, inspecting the tattoo. "Castle's is. . .brotherhood. Of a sort."

"Brotherhood of feathers."

She has this stupid urge to smack Esposito for that. But she doesn't. Ryan saves both his partner and hers by interrupting.

"I think it's sick," he says, grinning wickedly. Ryan is what? - using a throwback to ancient eighties culture? "Seriously sick, man."

Yes. Apparently boys act like teenagers when confronted with male posturing. Excellent.

She sighs. "Castle, put your shirt on."

"But it itches."

"Remember what I said?" she murmurs, glancing around for his shirt.

"Don't scratch," he sighs.

She presses her lips together, yanks his dress shirt from the back of the break room chair. "Besides that. I told you to slap it."

"But I can't reach back there to slap it. You do it."

Both Esposito and Ryan turn entirely too interested eyes to her. She steadies herself and shakes her head. "Get Ryan to do it."

"No. Ew. I'm not-"

"_Slapping_ him?" Esposito laughs. "Dude, I will totally slap him. Anytime, Castle. You can call on me." He draws his arm back, circling his hand as if he's priming himself for a healthy smack.

Kate steps between them, glares at Espo who thinks it's so funny to be more macho than Castle. And Castle lets him get away with it - which she doesn't understand. Castle could totally take him.

Oh, well.

Hmm.

"That's why I suggested Ryan," Kate mutters, glancing at Castle to make sure he's okay, handing over his shirt. Yeah, all right, so she is coddling him a little, but he loves it. He burrows his way inside and doesn't let go. Like a hookworm.

A big, broad-shouldered, cute-eyes, amazing smile hookworm.

"You do it, Kate," he says quietly, those eyes pleading with her.

"I think maybe we should leave for this," Esposito sniggers.

Castle gives Esposito a look, as if he thinks that will scare her off. Like hell it will.

She turns to Espo. "Maybe you should. Close the door as you leave."

Ryan's mouth drops open; he starts to say something but Esposito is already dragging him out of the break room by his elbow.

Kate turns her eyes to Castle, sees the layers of lust and love and surprise in his face.

He throws his shirt past her; it lands on the table. "Shut the door, huh?"

She grins, knows it's feral and predatory just by the way he swallows hard and sways towards her, entrapped, arms hanging loose.

"You standing next to my espresso machine, shirtless? What do you think, Castle?"

"Irresistible," he murmurs, rich pleasure in his voice. So cocky.

She hums in return and slides her fingers lightly down his bare arms, nails against his wrists as she goes for his sides. His obliques tighten and his hips cant towards hers, sudden and suggestive. Kate places an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone and licks, scrapes with her teeth.

He hisses a breath and leans in to snatch at her earlobe, her jaw with his mouth, messy, sloppy kisses that show just how out of control she can make him.

She slides her hands up his back, forgetting, and he stiffens.

"Itches, Kate. Seriously itches. You gotta-"

"Spank you?" she says.

He turns startled eyes to her, gasping through a couple of breaths, but she can't hold on to sexy. She breaks into laughter, feels it rolling through her.

"Oh, I've wanted to say that for ages, Castle. Oh man. Thanks. I needed that."

He growls at her. "You're a tease."

"I do believe you already knew that."

"But, at the same time, I think you also . . . have made good on quite a lot of those teases."

"Are you asking me. . .?"

"Yes, maybe I am."

Her turn to gasp at him.

* * *

><p>Kate takes the keys out of his hands when his can't stop fumbling. Castle watches her fingers deftly maneuver the tumblers, then closes in on her neck, crowding her against his front door.<p>

His apartment tonight. They're taking turns. It makes him smile.

And then it makes him nibble at the edge of her neck and slide his tongue down that tendon, suck at the spot he likes best as she grunts and arches into him. _Yeah, like that Kate_.

"Let me get - get the door," she pants. "Wait. Oh, please, not out here again."

But he _loves_ making her so crazy for him that she'll do it out in the hallway. It's always his goal. _Make Kate crazy._

"Ha," she gasps, and he can tell it meant to be triumphant, but it comes out breathy and delicious and so close to that other noise he loves, the one she says she doesn't make, the one that sounds like surprise and exhileration and sex.

"Ha?" he rumbles against her skin, a question that doesn't need an answer.

"Got it. Inside, Castle, get inside now-"

"Oh, yes ma'am," he growls, fingers reaching for the button of her dress pants. "Exactly where I want to be."

"No!" She darts away from him, eyes bright and cheeks stained, laughing as he backs her through the door and follows her into his loft. "You are so dirty-"

"Ahem. Uh. Hi, guys."

Ohhhhhh no.

Alexis.

Castle lifts his eyes from Kate and looks over her shoulder, meets his daughter's amused, slightly grossed out gaze. Kate groans and presses her forehead into his neck, slumping.

"Please tell me I did _not_ just say that in front of your daughter," she mutters.

"Kate, uh, you might want to stop brushing your lips against my neck. Not helping."

She sitffens, jerks away from him, smacks his arm for the tease she sees on his face. She's good, but she's not that good. Not when his daughter is standing three feet from them. Instant cold shower.

"This isn't funny," Kate hisses, then turns around and gives Alexis a little wave.

Alexis presses her lips together, an eyebrow raised, but he can tell she's biting her lip to hold it in. "Hi. Kate. Dad. I got your email - you have something to show me?"

Her eyes are flicking to Kate. She steps forward as if she's going to take Kate's hand, and it hits him what she thinks this is about.

"Oh, no. No. Alexis." He steps past Kate, grabs his daughter by the shoulders. He kisses her cheek quickly, uses that movement as a cover to whisper to her. "Not a ring. I'd ask your permission first anyway."

"Well you have it," she murmurs, kissing his cheek in return. When he pulls back, Alexis is looking at him with both adoring and silly joy and also some disappointment. Which is actually good to see. He wasn't sure how she might react to something like that - which, oh no, they are so far away from. Kate is so far away from right now. Not going to happen - though the permission is a relief, but no. No.

"So what is it?" Alexis asks, peering up at him with that indulgent expression, eyes crinkled just like he knows his own do.

"I got a way cool tattoo!" he crows, beaming back at her.

Alexis looks past him to Kate. "You let him get a tattoo?"

"Hey. Why does everyone look at Kate like I need her permission?"

Alexis raises a slim eyebrow. "Dad. Seriously."

"Let me show you. It's awesome." He works at the buttons of his shirt, and in his eagerness, his fingers trip over the task. Kate comes up behind him and takes over, knocking his hands away with a sigh.

He grins down at her, absolutely delighted to find her doing this, intimate and close, with his daughter standing right here. Like it's natural, normal. Like she's got no more compunctions about it. Like it's okay if Alexis sees them together.

And that makes him happy.

Castle works at the top buttons, and then tugs his shirt up a little and pulls it half off, turning around to show his daughter.

She laughs. "What is that?"

He's about to get indignant and answer, but he feels Kate's fingers at his lower back, her body warm and close.

"It's actually really meaningful," she says quietly. He can't see Alexis, but he practically can feel her grow serious.

He turns his head and glances at his daughter. "It's a sword and a pen both."

Alexis gives Kate a look and then smiles softly at him. "I get it. The pen is mightier than the sword?"

"And justice carries a sword," Kate adds. "And well, in your dad's case, justice carries a pen too."

He wants to hold her hand. Is that stupid? He wants to just . . . hold her hand and smile at her. She makes him stupid about her.

Suddenly, her fingers trail at his spine, move up to skim the tattoo. Her palm presses flat for a moment, then eases his shirt back up his arms, the moment of strange connection gone.

He turns around, gives Alexis a look. "So . . . cool, huh?"

"It's different," she hedges. "I never expected you for the tattoo sort."

"Kate has a tattoo," he says, the words popping out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Alexis turns her eyes to his partner; Kate's hand comes up and squeezes his elbow. Whatever well-fought peace these two have between them, apparently his stupid mouth should stay shut.

"Well, but Kate is a tattoo person," Alexis says, shrugging. "Not in a biker chick kind of way, Kate. Sorry. No. I mean. You're just intense. And it would mean something. Dad, you sometimes do things. . ."

"Spontaneously," Kate supplies, shooting him a look that includes a sly smile and some warmth. He smiles back, glad to take that description - so much kinder than it could have been.

"Exactly. You're spontaneous. So I just - yeah. Okay, I should be quiet. I think it's cool, Dad. I'm just surprised." She leans in and wraps her arms around him, a fierce hug, then turns to Kate and gives her a more delicate version of the same.

"Have you had dinner?" he asks as she steps back.

"Oh, well-" She gives him a look, then her eyes slide to Kate and back to him. "I'm not staying the night. I just came because you emailed me. You guys should - well - I mean - just do whatever you like. I'll spend the night with Becca."

"Don't let me kick you out," Kate says suddenly, but her body is leaning in towards Castle, as if she thinks she ought to be the one to leave but doesn't really want to.

He finally lets himself take her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "We haven't eaten yet, Alexis. You should stay and-"

"No. I'm good. Really. I'm not getting kicked out, don't worry." This time her smile is all for Kate, intent and purposeful. She turns and picks up her bag from the back of the couch, steps towards them. "Don't be - too dirty?" she smirks.

He hears Kate sigh, but he laughs and tugs his daughter into a one-armed hug, kisses her forehead. "I can't make any promises."

"I can," Kate says heatedly. "And jeez, Castle. Shut _up._"

Alexis laughs then, impish smile on her face. "I think I've heard worse, Kate. So don't worry about it."

His daughter untangles herself from his grasp and heads for the door, tossing them a wave as she leaves.

When it's quiet and just the two of them again, Kate steps away from him and sinks to the back of his couch, head in her hand, facepalm style. "I can't believe she heard all that. I said you were dirty, and your daughter heard me," she groans.

"It was funny." He grins to himself and steps closer. "Besides, you were making me pretty hot. Although, I think I was returning the favor?"

Kate lifts her head; he expects chagrin, but instead she has a wickedly aroused look in her eyes. "So very much."

It flares in him too; his words get her, her response always gets him. He stalks towards her, arms on either side of the back of the couch, hunched over to break into her mouth, steal the curve of her lips, the rich suggestive dart of her tongue.

She opens to him, mouth and body, her legs hooking around his hips and dragging him closer.

He chuckles into her assault and breathes, heads down to her neck and that spot he loves.

She fists her hand in his hair and lifts him away, eyes dangerous, so very dark. "I love that tattoo. Every time I see it - I love what it says about us."

He grins, wraps his arms around her tightly, lifts her against him. "Permanent?"

"Permanent," she says. "And maybe it hurt, getting it, getting to this point, but it was worth it. Right, Castle? It was _worth_ it."

He gentles his grip, slides his hand around to her hip, pressing the back of his fingers to that spot where she's marked as well. "So very much."

She smiles and releases his head, smooths her hands over his cheeks, leans in to give him the softest of touches with the faintest brush of her lips.

And then she says something entirely incongruous which makes it all the more unbelievably, crazy sexy:

"You gonna make it more permanent?"

"What?" he gasps. "Yes. Always. Permanent. Wait. Are you asking me-"

"You gonna let me move in, Castle?"

"You totally ruined my plan."

"You had no plan. You were chicken. You got a tattoo rather than get me a ring."

He blinks hard. Wait. How did it go from moving in to a ring? "Oh - yes. I - yes. _A ring?_"

"Isn't that how most people make it permanent?"

He lifts his head, heart bursting. "Yes. Are you - do you want a ring?"

"I'm the one asking, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he breathes, feels her hands at his collar now, sliding down his back, fingertips touching his tattoo. "Yeah, move in, marry me. All of that."

She grins back and presses another gentle kiss to his mouth, nips at his bottom lip.

"I like permanent."


End file.
